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Full text of "To The Lighthouse"

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almost jumped out of her skin. But then,
Mrs. Ramsay, though instantly taking his side
against all the silly Giddingses in the world, then,
she thought, intimating by a little pressure on his
arm that he walked up hill too fast for her, and
she must stop for a moment to see whether those
were fresh mole-hills on the bank, then, she
thought, stooping down to look, a great mind
like his must be different in every way from ours.
All the great men she had ever known, she
thought, deciding that a rabbit must have got in,
were like that, and it was good for young men
(though the atmosphere of lecture-rooms was
stuffy and depressing to her beyond endurance
almost) simply to hear him, simply to look at him.
But without shooting rabbits, how was one to
keep them down? she wondered. It might be
a rabbit; it might be a mole. Some creature
anyhow was ruining her Evening Primroses.
And looking up, she saw above the thin trees the
first pulse of the full-throbbing star, and wanted
to make her husband look at it; for the sight gave
her such keen pleasure. But she stopped herself.
He never looked at things. If he did, all he
would say would be, Poor little world, with one of
his sighs.

At that moment, he said, " Very fine," to
please her, and pretended to admire the flowers.